


Running Low

by orchidbreezefc



Series: Air [1]
Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: Cynthia Higgenbaum, Flirting, M/M, Oral Fixation, he's gotta retain SOMETHING from his shotgun days and i apparently decided that was flirting, stupid sexy stevens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 06:44:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17340536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchidbreezefc/pseuds/orchidbreezefc
Summary: Companion piece to [link: 'Out of Air']. Apparently Sammy gave Ben more than the 'eyes' he was complaining about.





	Running Low

**Author's Note:**

> Listen. I realize these two pieces are in second person but opposite POVs and that is confusing, and I am deeply sorry, but the page wants what the page wants. ~~And the Sage wants what the Sage wants~~

It starts with a pen. Sammy's tapping it against his mouth as the two of you listen to Cynthia Higgenbaum. Why does he even have a pen? He doesn't have a notebook to worry about, and you're radio hosts, not goddamn stenographers.

And yet there it is, against Sammy's lips. The clicky bit finds its way into his mouth, then he takes it between his teeth and rolls it back and forth over his lips. His tongue clicks the pen, then swirls around its plastic end. A finger on the hand that's propping up his head in boredom tweaks his lower lip.

You may have lost the thread of Cynthia's rant.

After what must have been a particularly spicy comment, Sammy looks over at you to exchange an eyeroll or a 'can you believe this shit' commiseration glance. But you fail to gather yourself and respond in time, and he notices. He looks puzzled for a moment, taking the pen out of his mouth. Then his eyes light up in realization as he apparently, unfortunately, comes to the correct conclusion.

Sammy grins, which then settles into a smirk, then a smolder. He leans back in his chair and gets comfortable with legs spread. The pen goes between his teeth again, and he swipes his eyes over your body, long and slow.

"Are you two flat-Earth-atheist no-lives even listening?"

You look determinedly away from Sammy and at the mic, adjusting your headphones. "Yeah, Cynthia, of course I'm listening. I just don't think you're onto anything with the lizard people thing. It's gross and, uh, and kind of antisemitic, if you know the background."

Sammy huffs a soft laugh, and in a moment of weakness you glance over. The pen is gone now, which is a good sign. When he raises his eyebrows in the sarcastic kind of mockery you know and love, you hope it's over and he's had his fun.

But then those eyebrows come back down toward eyes growing impossibly intense. He props his chin in his hand again, runs his tongue over his lips lazily but with purpose, bites his lower lip. You could no more look away than turn Frickard into a good person. Cynthia is merely a nasally-voiced mosquito in your ear.

"I can see where you're coming from, Cynthia," Sammy says, not even breaking eye contact, in a perfectly normal voice like this all has left him cool as a cucumber. Wait--wrong imagery. Dammit. "But come on. Those implications are way too inappropriate for radio." You are too far away to kick him, but you make a valiant effort.

Sammy just gives a too-winning-for-radio smile and tugs the collar of his flannel open until you can see his clavicle. He stretches in his seat, _luxuriously_ , and his shirt rises over his stomach and hipbones. You can see his navel, and that pelvic 'v' thing you don't know the name of, and a line of dark blond hair spreading as it runs down past the waist of his jeans, and _fuck your goddamn **cat**_.

You cross your legs and ignore the amused twitch of Sammy's lips. You are a grown-ass man. You can handle this.

"All right, Cynthia, the show is ending soon," says Sammy, giving his head a sideways jerk to indicate the clock to you, as if you haven't been counting the fucking seconds. "We'll let you go and wrap up if you don't have anything worthwhile and non-offensive to say, and that is a promise."

"Please," you add, a little hasty, and Sammy grins wolfishly. "I mean. Seriously. I've got my finger on the dump button right now, and you know how trigger-happy I get."

"Don't you threaten me, Ben Arnold--"

"Cynthia! You have twelve words to prove you have something good to give us." The words nearly run into each other due to your medium rage, which is boiling at her and Sammy and yourself.

"You think you're sooo tough with your Adonis body and your ultimatums--"

You hit the dump button.

"That's all the time we have, folks," you say firmly and quickly. "Thanks for listening to the Sammy and Ben show, blah blah blah, 660 on the AM dial, you know the drill."

Sammy looks like he's about to protest you dumping Cynthia or your informal signoff, as if he has any goddamn right. But then you switch off the soundboard and the 'on air' sign blinks out, and he immediately bursts into laughter.

"You motherfucker," you snarl, shoving off your headphones and rounding the table. "You miserable goddamn _cockwaffle_."

Sammy is about ready to fall out of his chair from laughing, and you are about ready to push him. Maybe he would get whiplash from the cord of the headphones still on his head and die, Gwen Stacy style. He would so deserve it.

"You're so easy, Ben," says Sammy, wiping a tear away either genuinely or for dramatic effect. "I cannot believe you. You've got more buttons to press than the goddamn soundboard."

"I hate you," you say. You roughly pull off his headphones and get right in his face, planting your hands on each arm of his chair. "You complete fucking prick. Learn to be a goddamn professional."

"Make me," he says, the smug asshole.

"Fuck you," you hiss, and before he can react, you're in his lap and kissing him.

It's impossible to keep that up for long, though, because even as his arms come around you to hold you close, he keeps fucking laughing into your mouth. You pull back to bite the bullet and let him get his 'was that an offer?' joke in, so you can go back to kissing him senseless--

But when he gets a moment to look at you in his arms, he doesn't crack a joke. All the seductive pretense, all the amusement at your expense, falls away and he smiles warmly at you. Like you hung the goddamn moon. It's a smile worthy of the great fucking Gatsby, and you feel even gayer for Sammy than that Nick guy was. Your heart swells as bad as a wall crab bite and just as painful. God, you love him so much.

"You are probably the worst person on the planet," you tell him, and when he cups your face in his hands to kiss you, you fit together perfectly.


End file.
